


Coming Clean

by mad_martha



Series: Auror [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Weasley and Neville make separate discoveries about the student house and its occupants, which lead to some uncomfortable moments for the six residents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> This occurs about five or six months after "Saucy Boys". Ron and Harry have started exploring a physical relationship together, but are still keeping it a secret from all but a very small handful of friends. The two of them are discovering that the relationship isn't as easy as they thought it would be, though, and issues keep popping up between them.

On this occasion, Harry had to agree with Mrs. Weasley; the house was in an appalling mess, and he had to exercise severe restraint not to simply tidy up after everyone, for Harry was _not_ at all messy by nature, rather the reverse.

But Hermione had told him off the first time she caught him cleaning up after the others. The kitchen in particular gave him the creeps, but since he rarely ate in there he had reluctantly agreed with her, although it went bitterly against the grain to leave things unwashed – even when they weren't his things.

"I'm particularly surprised at you!" Mrs. Weasley was saying to Hermione now. "What _would_ your mother say, young woman?"

"None of this was made by me or Harry!" Hermione protested. " _We_ clean up after ourselves, but I don't see why we should have to clean up everyone else's mess."

"I – " Harry began, but she cut him off.

" _No_ , Harry! I keep telling and telling you that it's not up to you to clear up after these lazy pigs!"

Hearing that, Mrs. Weasley rounded on the other four, all of whom were looking embarrassed, irritated and alarmed by turns. She glared at Seamus, who started to fidget.

"Seamus Finnigan, I know your mother and I know precisely what she would think of this _squalor!_ Do I need to visit her about it?"

He looked horrified. "No, ma'am!"

"Hmph!" Her eyes moved to Dean. "I make all allowance for things being different in Muggle households – "

He blanched under his dark skin. "You don't need to talk to my mum either, Mrs. Weasley ...."

"And Neville Longbottom – I'm particularly surprised at you! Nobody can say _you_ weren't raised properly!"

Harry thought Neville might wet himself in alarm and he shed about ten years off his age under Mrs Weasley's eyes.

"Don't tell Gran, Mrs. Weasley, please!"

 _No, please don't!_ Harry added silently. This was bad enough; they didn't need old Mrs. Longbottom descending on them too.

Which just left Ron, who was red-faced and trying hard to look defiant; but he didn't quite have the twins' knack for it.

"As for you!" Mrs. Weasley stalked up to her youngest son and jabbed him in the chest with a sharp forefinger. Considering that he was over a foot taller than her, he looked remarkably small. "I brought you up better than this, Ronald Weasley! I'm _ashamed_ of you! Look at this mess! You weren't raised in a gnome-hole or to batten on others either. I suppose you thought you could get away with this while Hermione lived here, didn't you? Oh, I knew how it would be when I heard it was just one girl living here with all you boys! Well, if you think you're going to carry on like this, you've got a big surprise coming to you – all of you! If I have to come here every night and stand over the lot of you myself, you're going to learn to clean up after yourselves and cook proper food – " she nudged an empty pizza box that lay on the floor with a distasteful toe, " - and no more of this filthy Muggle rubbish, making you ill and attracting rats and goodness knows what else into the house!"

She rounded on Harry then, to his alarm.

"And that's another thing! Look at you, Harry Potter! Just _look_ at you! All my hard work and Sirius's efforts, for I'll do him justice and say that at least he and Remus Lupin fed you properly, but why did we even bother? You're as thin as a rail again! I suppose you've been eating rubbish like these irresponsible louts, and not getting a proper cooked dinner or eating breakfast .... Well, I won't have it, not from any of you!"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed as she surveyed them all, and she put her hands on her hips.

"There are going to be a few changes around here, and no mistake! You are going to clean this house from top to bottom – until _I_ say it's clean, Ronald Weasley! – and you're going to learn how to feed yourselves properly. And then I'm going to drop in every so often, and woe betide the lot of you if I find you haven't been sticking to my rules!"

The next three or four hours were hideous, as Ron's mother went through every room and cupboard in the house and made them clean them all out. Only Harry, Hermione and Neville escaped utter condemnation of their bedrooms, and Neville still spent twenty minutes cleaning every speck of dust from under his bed. Ron probably came in for the harshest criticism, although Seamus also had a very rough time of it; Ron at least kept his sheets and underwear clean, a nicety Seamus appeared to skimp on, judging by Mrs. Weasley's horrified comments. Ron also escaped her remarks about Dean's dubious magazine collection and the assortment of feminine undergarments she discovered in Seamus's nightstand.

But the kitchen aroused her wrath the most. The bathroom was fairly clean – neither Hermione nor Harry could avoid cleaning up in there, since they were both forced to use it. But the kitchen, Harry privately thought, was rapidly turning into a hell-hole, the kind of place that won a slot on daytime TV in the Muggle world, which was why he avoided using it for anything more than making tea.

They were all roped into scrubbing it – by hand – and Hermione was dispatched to the nearest grocery store with a list to restock the pantry.

Scrubbing pots wasn't a particular hardship for Harry, who had done exactly that almost every day he lived with the Dursleys. Neville took his cue from him and Dean was no stranger to Muggle-style cleaning. So once again it was Ron and Seamus who suffered the most and they simmered resentfully as they scrubbed at the grease-caked oven and grill-pan. Harry couldn't help feeling that Seamus's collection of trophy underwear had probably sealed his fate; Mrs. Weasley had taken particular offence at that. And Ron, her own son, had been doomed from the start.

When the kitchen was finally up to her standard, and Hermione had returned with the groceries, Mrs. Weasley instructed them all in the fine art of cooking a casserole, and stood over them as they prepared meat and vegetables.

"I'll come back every evening this week," she promised grimly, "and you'll learn to cook decent, basic meals! And then, by Merlin, you'll all sit down to the table like respectable adults and eat a proper dinner at a fixed time."

After hearing Hermione's grumbles about finances, Mrs. Weasley also laid down the law about using the communal evening meal as a time to discuss household chores and other problems. She wrote out a list she called the "house rules" which included a rota for cooking meals, reminders about cleaning the bathroom and admonitions not to take the last packet of something from the pantry without replacing it. Then she stuck it up on a prominent place on the kitchen wall.

"And see that you stick to it!" she scolded. "I'll soon find out if you don't, for I'll popping in now and again – and if you don't want me to pay visits to all your parents, you'll be careful to keep things straight around here in future!"

That first visit was enough, though. Even Ron and Seamus, for all their grumbles, decided not to push their luck.

xXx

Harry prodded Ron gently in the ribs, early one Monday morning a few weeks later.

"Come on, mate, wakey, wakey. Time to go back to your own room."

Ron peeled open one blue eye and regarded Harry with sleepy frustration. "'Nother half hour," he mumbled, and closed it again.

" _No,_ Ron. Nev's on an early shift this week – you don't want him to catch you leaving my room."

"He's too clueless to notice," Ron muttered and he tucked his head back into the curve of Harry's shoulder. Harry sighed.

It wasn't like he _wanted_ to turn Ron out, after all. He didn't much like having to crawl silently out of Ron's bed at the crack of dawn, either, but they couldn't risk being seen by the others if they wanted to keep this relationship a secret.

"Ron," he murmured again, giving the redhead a gentle push.

In some ways this was even nicer than sharing Ron's enormous four-poster. Harry's narrow bed was definitely not intended for two people, especially when one of those people was well over six feet tall. On the other hand, it meant that they had to sleep _very_ tightly entangled or risk one of them falling out. And Harry, once he'd got over his initial jumpiness at so much physical contact, found that he really, really liked sleeping so close to Ron. The bed seemed vast and empty when he wasn't in it.

" _Ron,_ " he said again.

Ron sighed deeply. "Okay, okay, I'm going."

"Sorry, mate," Harry told him, genuinely regretful. He was unlikely to get back to sleep again after Ron left him.

"You will be, if you don't tell me what you did with my boxers." Ron disentangled himself and slowly sat up, swinging his feet to the floor.

"Eh?" Harry was trying to resist the urge to run his fingers down his friend's spine, an action which was unlikely to get Ron dressed and on his way back to his own room in the near future.

"Hello, Harry? Boxers? You know, those cotton things you were so keen to take off me last night? Randy little sod," he added smugly.

"Aren't they with the rest of your stuff?"

"Maybe you kept them as a souvenir."

"Git. My name's not Seamus. It's the body inside the underwear that interests me ...."

"Good." Ron shot him a grin as he found the required item of clothing. They _were_ with the rest of his stuff, but only because Harry was incapable of throwing an item of clothing on the floor, even in the throes of passion. "I'll allow you to examine it in detail again tonight ... if you can wait that long." And his left hand shot out, catching Harry's just as the other youth lost the battle against touching him. He nipped his fingers playfully and released him. "Save it."

He pulled his jeans on and stood up to button them, and hauled his t-shirt over his head; picked up his trainers and retrieved his wand from the chest of drawers by the door. Then he paused and glanced back at Harry, who was still sprawled naked among the very rumpled sheets. Ron could think of several magazines that would pay killer money for a picture like that of the Boy Who Lived, especially when he was sporting that particular sleepy smile. So he hopped back over there to snatch a quick kiss, wishing all the while that it could be something more substantial. They hadn't managed morning sex once since they'd moved into the house; too risky, unless they were prepared to set the alarm for some ungodly hour.

"See you later," he sighed and he turned to remove the silencing spell, before creeping out of the well-oiled door.

xXx

Somehow, thanks to there only being six of them in the house (at least at present), Monday had ended up as the day when no one was designated to cook dinner in the evening. Mrs. Weasley had told them it didn't get them out of a cooked meal, though, and suggested that the first person home should be responsible.

It didn't take long to establish that Seamus was _never_ the first home on a Monday and, given half a chance, the rest of them would do their damnedest to ensure that there was little or no dinner left for him as a result. Two weeks of dirty dishes and bread and cheese for dinner quickly mended his attitude; he still wasn't the first home on a Monday but he sheepishly suggested that he should be responsible for bringing some kind of sticky pudding for afters instead.

That particular Monday night Harry and Ron got home before the others, and although Harry was actually first through the door, Ron offered to help him make the dinner. The only question was what it would be. Harry was confident enough with anything that needed to be fried, but Mrs. Weasley had made it clear that a quick fry-up was not acceptable in terms of a cooked dinner as far as she was concerned. He cautiously investigated the contents of the vegetable basket and discovered two slightly sad-looking peppers, some onions and three medium-sized cauliflowers. Hermione had clearly done the shopping this time.

"Cauliflower cheese?" he suggested to Ron.

"That'll do. What do you want with it?"

"Dunno. What have we got?" Harry tossed the cauliflowers at his friend and opened the fridge. He had a vague notion that bacon or sausages would go rather well with cauliflower cheese, and so was rather disappointed when the package he pulled out held neither of these things but instead a tray of cubed meat. "Um ... what is this?"

"Pork?" Ron offered doubtfully. He charmed three knives into preparing the cauliflowers and began hunting for a saucepan large enough to hold them all. "What are you going to do with it?"

"You're asking me?" Harry looked at it a bit blankly for a moment, then had a brainwave. "Kebabs!"

They looked at each other. Then Ron shrugged.

"Works for me, mate!"

Harry had just finished skewering the meat and peppers, and started grating cheese for the sauce, when there was an odd little _pop!_ and Remus Lupin appeared next to the sink. He looked amused.

"Good evening, gentlemen!"

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded, for they had left him at the Auror Facility only an hour before.

"Checking up on _you_. I had to stop off at the Burrow on my way home and Molly asked me to stick my head in here and make sure you were all eating properly." His eyes crinkled up. "What kind of lie do you want me to tell her?"

"You don't have to – unfortunately," Ron told him sourly. He gestured to the array of pans on the stove. "We're making dinner. Cauliflower cheese and kebabs, if Mum insists on details."

"Cauliflower cheese and _what?_ " The laughter lines around Lupin's eyes deepened.

"Kebabs." Harry waved a skewer at him and frowned. "We found some pork in the fridge and – why, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, nothing! You have Sirius's unique style in food combinations, that's all. And I think you'll find that's turkey, not pork."

Harry looked at his kebabs in surprise. "How can you tell?"

"I have a very specific sense of smell."

"Oh. Well, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"No, of course not. I'll, um, tell Molly you're sorted for tonight, all right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Ron said. "Unless you want to have dinner with us?"

"No – that's very kind, but I'm making omelettes when I get home. I'd better be off." Lupin straightened his cloak, tipped them both a smiling salute, and Disapparated again.

"What's wrong with turkey kebabs?" Harry asked Ron rather pensively.

"Dunno, mate, they sound fine to me." Ron looked thoughtful as he began to make the cheese sauce. "Hey, Harry, have you ever wondered if ... well ...."

"I think you need a whisk for that. Have I ever wondered what?"

"Well ... have you ever wondered if Sirius and Remus might be gay?"

There was an ominous pause and when he looked up, Harry was glowering at him.

"No, I bloody well haven't! Why would I wonder something like that?"

Ron grinned at him. "There's no need to look like that! It just suddenly came to me – I mean, two decent-looking blokes in their prime, living together like that .... Why not? It'd make perfect sense."

"Only if they didn't both happen to be _perfectly straight,_ " Harry retorted and his glare cranked up a notch. "And what do you mean, two decent-looking blokes? Have you been checking Sirius out or something? Because that's disgusting."

"No, why? Besides," Ron added honestly, "I check everyone out. And Sirius _is_ a good-looking bloke. If he's so straight, why isn't he boffing every dolly-bird who comes his way?"

Harry stared at him, aghast. He didn't even know where to start with this statement.

"Boffing every dolly-bird?" he managed to ask in a strangled tone.

Ron took one look at his face and gave a crack of laughter. "Yeah, you know – riding the fillies, playing doctors and nurses, dodging the Bludgers and chasing the Snitch ...."

"Shut up, Weasley." Harry rummaged in the nearest drawer and pulled out a long carving knife, fingering the handle lovingly.

Ron eyed him with amusement and alarm. "Joke, Harry - honest!"

"Yeah, right." Harry brandished the knife. "My godfather is not gay!"

"Whatever you say, mate!"

"Hm!" But he put the knife back in the drawer. "I am _not_ speculating on Sirius's sex life, okay? I saw about as much as I wanted to know when he picked up that woman in Paris before my birthday. Besides, I have enough on my plate with my own love life, thanks." Harry picked up the cheese and started grating again. "As for Remus - he's divorced."

Ron looked surprised. "Really? I didn't know that."

"I probably shouldn't have told you. He doesn't talk about it much."

"Huh … how about that?" But the sly, teasing glint was soon back in his eye. "Still, that doesn't mean much. Maybe they've decided to try something a bit different, since it hasn't worked out for them with women!"

Harry gave him an exasperated look. Then an idea came to him. "Ron, has it ever occurred to you that your Mum and Dad probably still have sex regularly?"

There was an appalled pause. Then:

"Give me one of those skewers," Ron told him grimly. "I need to gouge my eyes out _right now_ to get rid of that image ...."

There was a distant rattle in the Floo and a moment or two later Hermione walked into the kitchen. She beamed when she saw them working away in front of the stove.

"Oh, well done, you two! I felt sure I was going to be the first one home, but Moody wanted to go through one of my assignments .... What's for dinner?"

"Cauliflower cheese and turkey kebabs," Harry told her.

There was a pause.

"Well, it's different," Hermione acknowledged, amused. "What are you planning to do, make little tripods out of the skewers and balance the cauliflowers on top?"

"Look, if you're so bloody clever, you can whisk the lumps out of this sauce!" Ron grumbled. "Everyone's a critic ...."

"Oh, stop being such a grouch and give me that whisk – "

The Floo rattled again and this time it was Neville who walked through the door, busily pulling a filthy robe over his head. Harry did a double-take when he saw the t-shirt the other youth was wearing underneath, which bore a slogan saying _Hey sexy – want to de-pus my Bubotuber?_ He found it difficult to reconcile his old image of Neville as the nervous class dunce with this new, improved Neville who wore pornographic t-shirts and appeared to have almost as rampant a sex-life as Seamus.

Ron had also caught sight of the t-shirt and he gave Neville a very bland look. "No thanks."

Neville sniggered when he realised what the redhead was referring to. "How do you know, if you've never tried it?"

Harry quickly turned back to his cheese-grating, hoping his face wasn't displaying anything incriminating.

"I've got my hands full de-pussing my own Bubotuber, thanks," Ron was saying. "In a manner of speaking – "

"When the pair of you have _quite_ finished," Hermione interrupted, annoyed. "Neville, don't take this the wrong way, but you smell. I'm not sharing a dinner table with you until you've washed and changed."

"It's the fertiliser," he apologised, but he shuffled off to do as she asked.

By the time he returned Dean had arrived, closely followed by Seamus who carried a box bearing the logo of Madam Fortunea's on the lid.

"Treacle Tart," he explained when he saw Harry looking, and Harry suppressed the urge to forego dinner and skip straight to dessert.

Apparently Lupin and Hermione were the only people who had a problem with kebabs and cauliflower cheese, for none of the others raised a murmur as Harry dished up. The meal disappeared with its usual speed, accompanied by surprisingly civilised conversation. Hermione even managed to broach the Floo bill without causing any riots and Dean volunteered to do the week's grocery shopping quite spontaneously.

Then, in the lull engendered by Seamus's ceremonial cutting of the tart, it happened.

Hermione had been gently needling the Irishman about his privacy spells – which he regularly managed to forget, to everyone's annoyance – when Neville broke in.

"I don't much care about the privacy spells one way or the other," he remarked, as he held out his plate for his share of the sweet. "I just wish people would sort themselves out at night, instead of tramping around at all hours."

"What do you mean?" asked Dean, frowning.

"What I said. Too many people are wandering around at the crack of dawn, and those floorboards outside my room creak you know. Harry, are you sleeping with Ron?"

Silence didn't so much fall in the wake of this, as land in the middle of the table with an almighty splat. For a moment Harry felt sure he _must_ have been mistaken, that Neville couldn't possibly have said what he thought he just said .... Then Seamus dropped his knife with a clatter. His face was like a thundercloud.

"What kind of fucking question is that?" he demanded.

Neville's eyes widened when he saw everyone's reactions. "I only asked," he said, disconcerted. "If he is, wouldn't it be easier if he just moved in with Ron, instead of the two of them creeping around in the middle of the night?"

 _I'm going to be sick_ , Harry thought, appalled. It felt like there was something immensely heavy sitting on his chest, stopping him breathing.

For a moment no one seemed able to say anything. Hermione looked stunned, Dean was staring at Neville with eyes that were going to pop out at any moment, and Seamus was about to spontaneously combust from shock and outrage. As for Ron .... Harry couldn't look at Ron. Then:

"I always thought there had to be a limit to silencing spells."

 _That_ was Ron, utterly calm and sounding quite unsurprised by Neville's clanging announcement. He had to be the only person at the table who was.

 _He knew_ , Harry realised. _The Sight – that git, he knew and he never told me ...._

Seamus produced a sickly, uncertain grin. "Right ...." he said slowly. "Nev, can you just - not do that to me ever again? I mean, ha ha, very funny, but – "

It's not a joke," someone interrupted him.

There was a second, ringing silence and it took a moment for Harry to realise that he'd said those words. He was surprised, for he didn't remember making a conscious decision to speak, and he had to brace himself to meet Seamus's staggered expression.

"It's not a joke," he said again. "Or if it is, it's one that's been played on me too."

"What?" the Irishman managed feebly.

"We've been sleeping together since July," Ron added, and Harry hated him for his matter-of-fact tone.

"Why?" Dean blurted out, and he flushed under the incredulous looks Hermione, Neville and Ron threw at him. But Seamus seemed to second his friend's sentiment, even if he couldn't articulate it himself.

"Good question," Harry said flatly, and he ignored Ron's flinch and hurt look. _Serves him right._ He threw his napkin on the table and stood up. "But I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you."

And he walked out of the room without a backward glance.

xXx

Since he'd been expecting Ron to come and try to pick a fight – or something – it took a moment or two for Harry to realise that the person standing in the doorway of his bedroom was in fact Neville.

He hesitated for a moment or two, then said, "Mind if I come in?"

Harry shrugged. He was sitting on the edge of his bed with a clothes-stuffed knapsack at his feet, trying to pull himself together. It wasn't working.

Neville dropped onto the edge of the bed next to him and nudged the bag with his toe. "Where are you going?"

"Home to Godric's Hollow for the night," Harry said. "If I can Apparate there without splinching myself."

"Why?"

"Because I don't much fancy spending an evening here with everyone either demanding answers or dancing around the issue. Frankly, Nev, I don't feel like talking about it. At all."

"Ah. Sorry." Neville grimaced. "Bloody typical that it should have been me who put my foot in it. I really am sorry, Harry."

"Why?" Harry smiled mirthlessly. "You've every right to complain if we were keeping you awake."

"Yeah, but ... well, if I'd really thought about it, I would have said something to one of you privately. I never meant to embarrass you in front of the others like that, it just popped out when Hermione started going on at Seamus." Neville flushed. "Maybe I need a privacy spell for my mouth."

Harry looked at him curiously. "Is that it?"

The other youth blinked nervously. "What do you mean?"

"Well ... aren't you bothered by it? By us sleeping together, I mean?"

"Oh, _that!_ " Neville snorted. "Nah, why should I be? Sleep with who you like, mate, so long as it makes you happy. And you both seem to be pretty happy to me. Besides ...." Now his ears began to redden like Ron's did when he was embarrassed. "It'd be a bit hypocritical of me to say anything else, really. I did something similar last year."

Harry's eyes nearly popped out. "You did? Who – sorry, scratch that. I don't want to pry. But how did that happen? I mean, you seem pretty ... well, _straight_ to me."

Neville grinned, some of his embarrassment fading. "Oh, he jumped me in the greenhouses one weekend. It was fun but it didn't last." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't say I'd go looking for something like that again, but I wouldn't say no to it either. So I sort of see where you're coming from. Besides, you and Ron have always been close, haven't you? There was that thing in the Fourth Year – the second task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He was the thing you'd miss most."

Harry felt his face begin to burn. "Believe me, that never even occurred to me."

"It occurred to quite a few other people," Neville remarked dryly. "They just never said anything outright to your face, and the innuendo seemed to go right over the top of your head."

"That happens a lot," Harry said, a bit dismally. Something alarming occurred to him. "Are people talking about us now?"

"Not that I've heard. Besides, if they were Seamus would have said something by now. It was pretty obvious from his reaction at dinner that he didn't have a clue."

"Thank God for that."

There was a pause.

"So ... have you told anyone else?" Neville asked finally.

"Hermione knows, obviously. Fred and George Weasley know, and Ginny. And I told Cho Chang a while back. But that's it."

"Are you going to tell anyone else? Your godfather and Professor Lupin, maybe, or Ron's parents?"

"God, no!" Harry shuddered. "Not for a long, long time, if at all. Can you imagine how Ron's mother would react?"

"Pretty daunting," Neville admitted. "But Harry ... you don't seriously think you're going to keep this quiet forever, do you?"

"I'm going to give it a damn good try," he replied grimly.

"But – "

"Nev, have you stopped to think how people will react when they find out I'm gay? I don't live in a little soundproofed bubble like most people - my life is a permanent soap opera for the wizarding world and on top of that, there's a demented weirdo and all his friends out there who want me to get all the bad press possible. It's just ... it's a really bad idea, that's all." He paused and rubbed his face wearily. "And the fact is, I really don't know where this is going. Ron seems to think that it's a forever thing, but – God, Nev, we're eighteen! How can it possibly be permanent? I can't imagine where I'm going to be in ten years' time, or even five years." He took a deep breath and voiced the fear that had been on his mind since his birthday. "I don't even know if I'll be _alive_ in five years' time."

"You can't think like that, Harry," Neville said, alarmed.

"I don't, most of the time," Harry muttered. "It's just that sometimes something will happen and suddenly it's there again – like a bloody great rock on my back."

There was a long pause and finally Harry stood and picked up his bag. "I'd better be going."

Neville stood up too. "Don't," he said a little helplessly. "At least come and talk to the others. I really don't think it'll be as bad as you think."

Harry thought again of Ron's calm demeanour at the dinner table, of how he must have known what was going to happen and yet hadn't said anything. The anger began to smoulder again.

He wasn't ready to face Ron yet, let alone the others.

"Maybe later," he said, not looking at Neville, and he Disapparated.

xXx

"It's not that I have a problem with you turning up and cleaning our kitchen," Sirius explained uneasily, "but there's something just a little bit unhealthy about the _way_ you're doing it, and I really think - "

"Sirius," Lupin interrupted him sharply, "either help us or go away. Either way, I'd like you to shut up."

Sirius pursed his lips unhappily, but fell silent. He grabbed a tea-towel and began to dry the increasing mountain of dishes and cutlery on the draining board.

Harry had turned up just as they were finishing dinner and offered to help wash up, but what had started as two plates, two sets of cutlery and a couple of pans had somehow expanded to include the entire contents of the kitchen cupboards. When under stress he reverted to the most basic patterns of his childhood; at the Dursley's house a row had often ended with him cleaning something as penance and at some point the habit had become fixed.

Running out of things to wash, Harry drained the sink and wiped the work-surface for the third or fourth time. This time, Lupin took the dishcloth out of his hands and replaced it with his tea-towel.

"Help Sirius finish the drying," he said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "I'll make some tea."

Sirius heaved an inner sigh of relief and began to put the dishes back into the cupboards, forestalling Harry who almost certainly would have tried to wash the cupboards out first. Not that they needed it; Lupin was almost as big a neat-freak and everything was antiseptically clean.

"May I stay the night?" Harry asked abruptly. They were the first words he'd spoken in a good twenty minutes.

"I've told you before; this is your home," Sirius replied, hoping he didn't sound as exasperated as he felt at the question. "You don't have to ask."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, that's a yes! Your room's where it always is."

"Thanks."

Sirius watched as the youth struggled to keep his face smooth and blank over obvious agitation. For two Knuts he would have said something, but Lupin was giving him the Glare of Death again and he held his tongue. They had already asked once if something was wrong and Harry had denied it. Experience had taught both men that pestering him would only make him dig his heels in further.

The frustration was overwhelming, though. Sirius wished now that they had never embarked upon this game of letting Harry set the pace in his relationships with them. Sometimes it was simpler get things out in the open from the start, however painful, for Harry's reticence was epic in its proportions and over time only became a bigger and bigger wall between them.

This whole business of his relationship with Ron was a case in point. It sat between them like an almighty elephant that everyone pretended not to notice, and Sirius was incredulous that Harry could still believe he and Lupin didn't know about it. It had been five months, if not longer, and they had known pretty much from the beginning, but Lupin had insisted they let Harry decide when and how to tell them. Well, this was not the first time Harry had turned up at Phoenix Lodge looking like someone had trampled all over him emotionally, and the inability to offer anything other than non-specific support was driving Sirius mad.

Lupin poured the tea just as Sirius put the last pan back on its hook. And with excellent timing, there was a little _pop!_ and Ron Weasley appeared by the kitchen door, looking almost as exasperated as Sirius felt. Lupin glanced at him, unsurprised, and took another mug off the shelf and filled it. Then he jerked his head at Sirius in a signal to follow him into the living room.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Sirius felt a silencing spell being cast on the other side and he rounded on Lupin.

"What the hell - "

"Sirius, I've told you before - Harry's a grown man now and he has to sort these things out for himself," Lupin interrupted sharply. "He doesn't need or want your help!"

"No, of course not!" Sirius said sarcastically. "That's why he popped into our living room, looking like Dick Whittington with that pathetic little bag, and spent the last half-hour cleaning our kitchen!"

Lupin sat down in his favourite armchair with a sigh and pushed a hand through his greying hair. "Yes … well, I have to admit I don't like that habit much, but I don't suppose he can help it. At least he does come here, though, even if he doesn't tell us what's bothering him. It could be a lot worse."

"A lot _worse?_ Remus, we have to say something. This is getting ridiculous!"

"And what exactly do you plan to say? _Harry, I know you're gay – why don't you tell me all about it_?" Lupin raised an ironic brow. "How would you have felt if someone had said that to you when _you_ were eighteen?"

Sirius's first thought was that he probably would have punched the person who dared suggest it, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"I _wasn't_ gay," he pointed out, sitting on the sofa opposite his friend.

"Some people might have questioned that, considering how close you and James were."

"James was practically my brother!" he exploded.

"And if you're secure in your sexuality, why are you so upset by the suggestion?" Lupin eyed his spluttering friend with amusement. "You're a good godfather, Padfoot, but I still think you should let Harry choose his own time and place to tell you. I'm sure he will eventually, provided this doesn't prove to be just an experiment. It might, after all. Eighteen is very young to be making a commitment."

Sirius forbore to point out that Harry's father had made just such a commitment at that age, and tilted his head questioningly at Lupin. "Have you seen - ?"

"The bracelets?" Lupin nodded. "In spite of the misdirection spells on them! Ron's idea, I should think. I love Harry, but you can't call him a romantic."

Sirius sighed and let his head drop back against the chair. This situation with Harry and Ron, he felt, could turn bad so very easily, and how the hell was he supposed to help the boy when officially he didn't know anything about it?

Then he raised his head to glower at his friend again.

"You know, Moony, I'm starting to think that when Prongs asked me to be Harry's godfather, he was pulling off the sneakiest prank any of us ever came up with."

"I've been thinking that for years," Lupin replied, amused.

xXx

"What do you want?" Harry demanded with weary annoyance of Ron as soon as he had erected the silencing spell.

"What do I - ? Oh, give it a rest!" Ron glared at him. "Was there a reason why you suddenly decided to bugger off and leave me to deal with Seamus's homophobia?"

"What, weren't you expecting that?" Harry demanded sarcastically. "I could have sworn you were all prepared for Neville's little announcement this evening."

Ron stared at him. "Is _that_ what this is about?"

"I suppose it didn't occur to you that I might like to know it was going to happen in advance too?"

"Yeah, it occurred to me! But what would you have done if I'd told you?"

"I wouldn't have gone home for dinner tonight, for a start!"

"Exactly," Ron said. "And it still would have happened, but behind your back, and you'd still have had to deal with Seamus and the others when you _did_ go home. Is that what you wanted?"

Harry fumed, unable to deny this. "You could have warned me. Talked to me first, before you acted cool while I was left looking like a stranded fish!"

"I didn't have time, Harry! I picked up the image on one of the saucepans while we were cooking dinner and it seemed better to just let Neville get on with it, rather than have you panic and jump-start the conversation."

"And Neville's way was better?"

"Yes," Ron said stubbornly. "Harry, he's on our side!"

"It doesn't matter if he's on our side! It doesn't matter if any of them are! We've got three more people in on the secret now, one of whom is permanently accident-prone and blurts things out at the drop of a hat, and another who clearly hates queers and will probably out us to the first person he meets at work tomorrow!"

"He won't," Ron said curtly. "If you'd bothered to hang around long enough, you'd have heard Hermione telling Seamus that if he couldn't cope with the news she'd Obliviate him personally. And that was _after_ she told him what she'd do to him and Dean if they opened their traps to anyone before we gave them permission."

"Great," Harry said, exasperated. "Threatening them will _really_ improve the situation! I bet they felt really mellow and understanding after that."

"Well, what do you _want?_ " Ron exploded. "Yes, I know it's not a perfect situation! There's no way it can be. But we knew all this when we started, Harry, and we always knew there was a chance we'd be found out. So what do you want to do - bail out?"

For a split second Harry was tempted to do just that, to tell Ron that it was finished, he couldn't take any more of the stress he was under and it had all been a mistake ….

He couldn't do it.

For all that Ron looked as angry as Harry himself felt, his blue eyes were desperate, imploring. And Ron, he knew, was not the problem. They already knew that they could co-exist in this relationship quite happily; it was real and it was working. It was only when other people came into the equation that problems started, and Harry - not for the first time - felt a desperate longing to be back in that little Highland cottage where they'd spent two weeks together after they left school.

Unfortunately, it wasn't possible to live life without ever coming into contact with other people - even had he really wanted to.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "What do you want to do?"

"More to the point, what do you want to do?" Ron countered. " _Do_ you want to bail out?"

"No," Harry sighed.

"Well what, then?" The muscles in Ron's jaw seemed to tighten. "Do you want to tell everyone and get it over with?"

"Not really."

The redhead let out a relieved breath. "Good. Because I'm not ready to have that conversation with my mother yet - especially not with the way she's fussing about Percy lately. Do you … do you want to tell Sirius and Remus?"

For a split second, Harry was tempted. It would be such a relief to be able to talk to them about this, to have someone more … more _adult_ , for want of a better word, to turn to when things got tough. But something inside him still held back. They were the nearest thing he had to parents, but he had no idea how they would take the news that their very heterosexual best friend's son was gay. It wasn't like the wizarding world was any the less prejudiced against gay people, after all. And it just wasn't worth the risk of losing them both.

 _Remus would understand,_ a small voice said in his mind. _He knows what it means to be discriminated against._

 _Maybe,_ Harry retorted silently, _but you don't know that for sure, do you? Just because he deals with werewolf prejudice every day doesn't automatically mean he'll be keen to embrace every other misfit in society._ And Sirius … while Sirius would be desperately hurt if he discovered that his godson felt he couldn't tell him something, it was equally possible that he would throw fifteen different kinds of fit if Harry _did_ tell him. So -

"No," Harry said finally, and ruthlessly quelled the disconsolate twinge he felt at saying it.

"Okay then." Ron straightened up. "We keep it to the people who know now and hope they all know how to button their lips."

"Right."

"Good. That's ... good."

"Yeah."

There was a pause.

"So," Ron said. "Are you coming home?"

There was a rough spot on the underside of the pine kitchen table; Harry found himself focussing on it rather intensely. "I sort of told Sirius I'm staying here tonight."

At this Ron's temper, ever volatile, boiled over completely. "Right – fine! You do that! I don't know why I bloody well bothered."

And he Disapparated.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, struggling to maintain at least an appearance of calm. It was an uphill battle, for if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was quarrelling with Ron. As their history disagreements went this one was pretty small beer, but it chewed him up inside, making him feel more than a little queasy.

After a while he removed the silencing spell and went into the living room. Sirius and Remus were quietly reading by the fire and short of one of them taking up embroidery, a more peaceful, domestic scene could not be imagined. Harry didn't believe it for one minute; Sirius, at least, must be nearly gnawing a limb off in his desperation to discover what was going on in the kitchen. Amusement chased away some of his tension.

"I can believe Remus would sit and read in the evening," he commented to his godfather, "but not you."

Sirius grinned and tossed his magazine (typically, a copy of _Girls On Brooms!_ ) onto the coffee table. "Who said I was reading?"

"Not me, certainly," Lupin murmured, turning a page.

Harry wandered over and peered at the magazine. The witch on the cover was improbably dressed in see-through gauze robes and posing with the latest Nimbus. She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Yeah, that's true," he said dryly. "Not much in the way of text, is there?"

"That publication nearly went down in the annals of history," Sirius told him.

"Shall I make a real effort not to twist that sentence into something else?"

Lupin smothered a laugh.

Sirius glowered at them both. "That magazine was nearly the cause of your father's untimely demise when he was seventeen," he persisted.

"No, was it? Too exciting for him?"

"I don't have to tell you these things, you know."

Harry made a patently false attempt to look penitent. "Please do tell, Uncle Sirius."

Sirius folded his arms huffily. "No, I've changed my mind."

"Your mother caught James with a copy and threatened to insert it somewhere painful and permanent," Lupin told Harry.

"Moony!"

"I _was_ there," Lupin pointed out. Ignoring his friend's spluttering, he smiled at Harry. "Has Ron left already?"

Harry's amusement drained away. "Yeah."

"Everything okay?" asked Sirius.

Harry shrugged and flopped onto the sofa next to him.

"Maybe it's not a good idea to live with a bunch of other people," he remarked after a moment.

"Depends on the other people, I would think," Lupin suggested.

"Yeah, well I seem to live with a bunch of prats," Harry grumbled.

"That's a bit hard on Hermione."

The youth grunted noncommittally.

"Something wrong?" Sirius persisted.

Harry shrugged again. "Maybe I would have been better off getting a place on my own. Or staying here."

"Your room's always there for you."

"Yeah, but what kind of sad git still lives at home when he's eighteen?"

"Percy Weasley?"

"My point exactly."

Sirius grinned. "I promise not to cluck over you, force you to eat hearty meals or comb your hair for you. Can't speak for Moony, of course …."

For a moment or two Harry was terribly tempted. Then he remembered the look of desperate entreaty in Ron's eyes. Walking out would not only be an act of terrible cowardice but also a kind of betrayal.

"Thanks," he sighed, "but I suppose I ought to try and deal with it instead of just walking away."

Sirius and Lupin wisely did not ask for clarification of "it", regardless of how tempted they were.

xXx

When Harry dropped out of the Floo at the student house a short while later, he was startled and dismayed to find that the others were all still sitting around in the living room, arguing. There was a sudden silence when they registered his presence and Ron, who was leaning against the door-post, got a look of exasperation on his face that was oddly mingled with relief.

Harry took advantage of the pause to drop his knapsack onto the couch next to Hermione and fold his arms. "What did I miss?" he asked dryly.

Hermione recovered first. "Not much," she said, matching his tone and giving Seamus an unfriendly look. "A lot of people were expressing opinions on subjects they don't know the first thing about, but I suppose that was to be expected. The main concern seems to be that having two gay men in the house will cast doubt on everyone else's manliness. I'm trying really hard not to comment on _that,_ " she added scornfully.

"I never said - " Seamus began heatedly, but he was interrupted by Neville who wearily replied, "Yes, you did."

"So, what - you want us to move out?" Harry demanded.

"No!" Dean and Neville said at once. Seamus fumed for a moment or two before reluctantly shaking his head. He didn't seem able to look Harry in the eye.

"Then I don't see what the problem is," Ron said rather belligerently.

"The _problem,_ " Seamus snapped, "is that I just don't get it! For cryin' out loud, you're both _straight_. Wasn't so long back that Harry was screwing Cho Chang - "

"Actually, it was well over a year ago," Harry pointed out.

" - and Ron was going out with Hermione - "

"Sort of, depending on how loose your definition is," Hermione muttered sourly.

" - and now suddenly you're gay?" the Irishman continued doggedly. "Come on, what is this? Boredom? Some kind of 'best friends with benefits' thing because neither of you can get a girl?"

The look of sudden, livid rage on Ron's face at this accusation made Harry want to jump in with some kind of rebuttal, but Neville got there first for once.

"Oh! So _that's_ what you and Dean do when you're at a loose end! I always wondered." The barrage of abuse he got from both of them only made him laugh. "Sauce for the goose, as my Gran says!"

Harry didn't know whether to laugh at this or not, but Hermione tried to muffle a sudden giggle and although Ron didn't look amused, he calmed down again and was able to answer the accusation fairly mildly.

"I am not _suddenly gay,_ " he said coolly. "I can't speak for Harry, but I've known I'm gay for some time. Maybe even as far back as fifth year."

Since this seemed to strike Seamus temporarily speechless, it was Dean who said, with a quizzical look, "But you went out with Hermione at the end of sixth year!"

Ron raised his brows and looked at Hermione. "You want to explain that one?"

She gave him a dark look. "That," she told Dean, "was a mistake. A big mistake for Ron and an even bigger mistake on my part. Believe me, I regret it."

"Ouch," Ron said a little indignantly. "Don't pull your punches, will you?"

"What do you expect?" she said crossly. "You were a complete pig."

"Right! Fine!" Seamus snapped, finding his voice. "So Weasley was gay all along, but that doesn't explain you and Cho Chang," he said to Harry.

"Unless she was really a bloke," Neville suggested helpfully.

Dean stared at him. "Are you pissed or something?" he demanded. "What kind of comment is that?"

"Trust me, she wasn't a bloke," Harry said quickly, trying not to laugh.

"So, what - you were gay too but didn't realise it until you'd been boffin' the girl for over a year?"

Harry glanced uneasily at Ron, for this was tricky territory. "Not … exactly."

Seamus looked like he was about to burst something. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that he's bisexual," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"You say it like he's double-jointed or something," Ron told her, annoyed. "Besides, he _isn't_."

"Why don't you let Harry decide if he is or he isn't?" snapped Hermione. "Just because he's with you now doesn't make him your personal property - "

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly. This was getting out of hand. "Can you all just _calm down,_ please?"

Everyone (with the exception of Neville, who was already quite calm) seemed to subside, looking a little disgruntled.

"Right," Harry said after a moment. "I don't think the exact details of my sex life are relevant here and whether I prefer to sleep with men, women or Nifflers is no one's business but mine, okay? But right now Ron and I are together and the only important question is if this is going to be a problem for everyone."

"Not for me," Neville said.

"Nor me," Hermione added.

There was a pause before Dean finally said, "So long as you don't make us watch, it doesn't really matter to me, either."

"What about you, Seamus?" Ron said.

The Irishman didn't look happy, but after a couple of distasteful grimaces he reluctantly inclined his head. "Okay, okay. Just no touchy-feely stuff or - or _kissing_ or stuff in front of me, okay? I don't want to know. And for cryin' out loud, use a damned privacy spell."

" _Everyone_ should use a privacy spell!" Hermione retorted sharply. "Some of us more than others! In fact - where are those rules of Mrs. Weasley's?" She bounced up off the sofa and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with the list in her hand. "Let's make this official," she said firmly, and she pulled out a quill.

xXx

Harry was glad to drag himself upstairs to his room after that, but it seemed that he wasn't about to get any peace even then. Ron followed him, lounging in the doorway as Harry put the contents of his knapsack back in his chest of drawers.

"So …." he said, when Harry was finished.

"So?"

"Do you want to move into the attic with me?"

Harry immediate reaction was to say no. He wasn't ready for the permanence such a move suggested, even though it had been one of Hermione's stated reasons for offering Ron the room when they first moved into the house. Also, he didn't like the idea that Mrs. Weasley might make one of her spot checks and wonder why all Harry's belongings were in her son's room. Frankly, he felt just a little too paranoid about their situation to do something so radical just yet.

"Maybe not just now," he said finally.

To his surprise, Ron accepted this with a resigned expression. "Okay. But you'll be staying with me tonight, right?"

Again, Harry felt an urge to say no – he was wound up and stressed and all he really wanted to do was sleep. But he had an idea that if he refused now, Ron would take it very badly indeed.

"I don't feel up to much," he said carefully, feeling rather foolish.

But Ron shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We can still, you know, sleep together."

So Harry followed his friend up the stairs to the attic, wishing all the while that it didn't feel like everyone else in the house was watching them.

It was the first time since they'd left school that he'd seen Ron wearing pyjamas, he realised, as they got ready for bed. That felt very odd, as did climbing prosaically between the covers and trying to settle into sleep instead of somehow ending up there after a lot of strenuous activity and falling into an exhausted post-coital slumber. In fact, Harry _couldn't_ relax; he tossed and turned restlessly until he was sure Ron would get fed up and push him out. But Ron very patiently put up with it, waiting out every bout and re-settling against him, until finally Harry got comfortable and was still.

The last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep was Ron huffing affectionately "About bloody _time!_ " before wrapping an arm around him and settling into sleep himself.


End file.
